Grief (First Draft)

The lights clicked off, one by one by one. She ghosted through the hall without a sound. It was a walk she had made many times before, she could beat the lights now, or even make the walk in the dark if needs be. Once she reached the office, she slipped inside. The room was presented in cold grey stucco. On one side was a thin table. It had thin legs, a thin top and was also grey. There was a chair beside the desk, red, and another in the corner. The chair in the corner looked slightly cheaper than the chair in behind the desk, and was a little smaller. During the day she would often sit on the chair in the corner, but if she had the opportunity she would sit in the larger chair behind the desk.

She stood with her back pressed against the door for a moment. She did not sigh. After a moment or two she moved away from the door and approached the desk. At one side, hidden slightly from view, were several fleece jumpers. These were emblazoned with the company logo. She unfolded and spread these across the floor in the small area of floor between the desk and the wall, away from the door. Slowly, she laid out across the fleeces. Under the desk was a small book of poetry. The inside cover contained a hand written dedication. Each night she would open the book at the page with the dedication. She had not read the poems in side, there seemed little that these poems could convey which this opening page could not achieve. The writing was fairly elaborate, yet subtle. The f’s and g’s swirled majestically, sitting beside the other calm and understated characters. When she had first examined this page, little over a month ago, she had thought of the meanings behind the handwriting. It occurred to her that perhaps there was a strange synchronicity in the handwriting. He could often dart around with the most extreme and soaring majesty, then settle back into a life of weakness. The weakness was an odd phenomena. Since she had known him he had been a strong man, in behaviour and convictions. This had enveloped almost all characteristics of his personality, governing his friendships, work, pleasure and indeed his lovers. The weakness of his later months had always seemed, perhaps, a certain fate. Before a man like he could pass, a second sense ad perspective on life was needed. An acceptance if you will.

Over time the words themselves, and now even the handwriting had affected her less and less and now failed to inspire any feeling from her. It seemed more like a ritual.

After a few minutes the lights clicked off. The sensors were based on motion. Sometimes if she stirred in her sleep they would trigger and a flash of fluorescent light would wake her, but this happened less and less recently. It almost seemed like most things were clockwork. The sensors would not be triggered. She would sleep and awake at such a time, she could glide through the halls and into the toilets until the others arrived.

That night as she slept, she dreamt of a ballroom. He was healthy and they were dancing. There was no music. Just the sound of her dress brushing the sparkling tiles.